


something just like this

by clayisforgirls



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Ass Play, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, X-men Inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-07 20:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11066526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clayisforgirls/pseuds/clayisforgirls
Summary: There aren’t many mutants out there who have truly mastered one power, let alone two, but Patrick’s special. Jonny’s known that from the day that Patrick turned up at Q’s with a Sabres backpack, 100% unashamed of his terrible taste in hockey teams, and single handedly charmed Jonny into a friendship he hadn’t wanted.





	something just like this

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbetaed, and not really what I'd planned to write for the challenge. It may one day become part of a larger universe I've been thinking about for a while, but for now, have this slice of fluff.

Chicago in the summer is—well. It’s really fucking hot.

It’s not like Winnipeg isn’t hot and humid in the summer, but Chicago is _different_. The city is brutal, the sun bouncing off the buildings and heating the streets, and the suburbs aren’t much better. Jonny feels that he should be used to it since he’s been in Chicago for more than five years, but the summer never gets less gross.

Jonny had been thankful when Patrick had suggested they sneak away from the celebrations, long after Patrick lit the skies with their own personal fireworks show to celebrate what he lovingly calls ‘America Day’. The phrase is equal parts ridiculous and endearing, but that’s Patrick in a nutshell. Maybe with a side of amazing, because even though Jonny had watched Patrick practice his firework tricks until they were perfect, he’d still had one surprise left for Jonny at the end of the night.

There aren’t many mutants out there who have truly mastered one power, let alone two, but Patrick’s special. Jonny’s known that from the day that Patrick turned up at Q’s with a Sabres backpack, 100% unashamed of his terrible taste in hockey teams, and single handedly charmed Jonny into a friendship he hadn’t wanted.

Tonight Jonny hadn’t been able to take his eyes off Patrick, and it wasn’t because it looks like America puked on him, his clothing a terrible mismatch of stars and stripes.

Once they were alone Patrick had opened his palm and created a tiny ball of light, one that flickered like a flame, the light dancing in Patrick’s hand. It’s something Jonny’s never seen before—never even knew that Patrick’s sparks could be controlled like this—and it’s _breathtaking_.

“Surprise,” Patrick had murmured against his lips, and Jonny had fallen in love with him over again.

There had been no need for torches as they’d walked through the woods, Patrick’s spare hand twined with Jonny’s own, until they’d reached what Jonny thinks of as ‘their’ spot. It’s close enough to the house so that Q can contact them if he needs to but they’re hidden from view by the trees. It’s somewhere that no one can spy on them, and by no one, Jonny really means Sharpy.

He loves Sharpy like he loves a brother, but he doesn’t need to add Jonathan Toews: Surprise Romantic to the list of things that Sharpy enjoys chirping him about.

Especially when there aren’t many things Jonny would rather be doing than spooning with Patrick. The humidity is still sticking to them both like a second skin but he’s plastered along Patrick’s back anyway, his face tucked into the curve of Patrick’s shoulder. As always, Patrick’s t-shirt is two sizes too big for him, and Jonny can taste the salt from the heat of the day as he presses kisses into the exposed skin where his neckline has slipped to one side.

Patrick’s sketching out hockey plays in the sky, and Jonny can’t help but watch as the light trails behind his fingers in the same way that it does after a sparkler. He tries to keep up with how the players dance around in the sky, and laughs when he sees Patrick try to recreate the winning goal of the game they’d watched on NHL vault last night.

“I don’t think we could pull that off,” Jonny says ruefully. “My slap shot’s not that good.”

“Maybe it’s not meant to be you,” Patrick says. Jonny raises an eyebrow, and even though Patrick can’t see him, he still understands what Jonny’s trying to wordlessly convey: that it’s _always_ Jonny, whether that’s a sweet pass on the ice or working together to defeat the latest bad guy in town. “We can work on it this summer. Crow won’t know what’s hit him.”

“We can work on our freaky mind meld too,” Jonny mumbles against Patrick’s skin, and Patrick laughs.

“Pretty sure we’ve got that down.”

Jonny hums noncommittally, because no matter what Duncs says it’s _not_ a freaky mind meld. They’re just weirdly in sync with each other.

The hockey plays segue into Patrick drawing patterns in the sky—stars and hearts mostly, because that’s the full extent of his artistic ability. Jonny would chirp him, except he lives in his own glass house of stick figure drawings and teenage doodles. Instead he presses closer against Patrick, tucking his fingers under the waistband of Patrick’s shorts, drawing the same shapes over Patrick’s smooth skin.

Except the shapes change into letters, and Jonny blinks as Patrick starts to spell out something that Jonny’s wanted for a really fucking long time.

_W-i-l-l-y-o-u-m-a-_

“Yes,” Jonny says, his smile pressed against the curve of Patrick’s shoulder, because he can’t wait one second longer. “Fucking _yes_.”

“Fuck you,” Patrick says. He turns so they're face to face, his palm warm where it’s pressed against Jonny's chest. “Fucking presumptuous. Could’ve been asking you to make me a sandwich.”

Jonny laughs. Patrick pouts like he’s five, his lower lip jutting out, his eyes wide. Jonny kisses him softly, a gentle press of Patrick’s mouth against his until he bites down softly on Patrick’s protruding lower lip. He doesn’t miss the soft moan that Patrick makes, his eyes fluttering shut for a second until Jonny’s back to drowning in a sea of blue.

“I know you weren't though,” he murmurs against Patrick’s lips, dipping in for featherlight kisses between each word. “But I’m happy to make you a sandwich if you marry me.”

This time it's Patrick's turn to laugh, his eyes sparkling in the moonlight. His hand is still warm on Jonny’s chest, his fingers tracing the lines of Jonny’s abdominal muscles through a t-shirt that Patrick had once declared obscene. It also happens to be Patrick’s favorite.

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Patrick says, his smile wide and ridiculous, reflecting the happiness that Jonny knows is written all over his own face. “A sandwich a day keeps the bad guys away.”

Jonny’s smiling as he kisses Patrick again, pulling Patrick closer until they’re pressed together from head to toe, their bare skin sticking together in the heat. Patrick’s leg is hooked over his hip in the most possessive gesture that Jonny’s ever seen him make, but Jonny doesn’t want to move even if he could.

Patrick’s mouth is warm and soft and _familiar_ , but kissing him is never boring. He’s a fucking _tease_ , and when Patrick’s tongue flicks against his own in a promise of _later_ , Jonny’s struck with an image of Patrick on his knees, his dimples popped as he takes Jonny into his mouth.

It doesn’t help the situation in his pants, his cock half hard already with the way that Patrick’s hands can’t settle on his skin, seemingly wanting to touch everywhere. Jonny moans as Patrick slips a hand down the back of his shorts, his fingers dipping between Jonny’s cheeks, stroking gently over Jonny’s hole. It’s dry, but Jonny doesn’t care; he wants to to push back against Patrick’s hand, let him slip a finger inside until Jonny’s begging for _more_.

But they can’t do this here; they might be hidden from the house, but that isn’t always going to stop someone from looking for them. Or worse, someone coming out here to do the same thing they are.

“Shit,” Jonny gasps as Patrick presses at the edge of Jonny’s hole, the intent obvious. “Peeks—not here.”

“Yeah,” Patrick agrees, but it doesn’t stop him doing it again. Jonny shivers at the touch, tucking his head into the curve of Patrick’s shoulder before he puts some space between them.

When he looks back at Patrick, his cheeks are flushed, his lips are red, and his pupils are blown out, leaving only the tiniest ring of blue. He’s _beautiful_ , and Jonny can’t believe he gets to have him by his side for the rest of his life.

“If you’re nice to me I’ll carry you home,” Patrick says, breaking the silence, a quirk to his lips that Jonny can’t miss.

“I’m always nice,” Jonny counters. Patrick snorts, which is _unfair_. Jonny’s a model boyfriend. Model fiancee, even. And yeah, that’s not gonna get boring any time soon.

They get to their feet separately, and Jonny’s about to climb onto Patrick’s back like normal when Patrick coughs purposefully. He’s standing a couple of feet away from Jonny, his arms held out like he wants to be carrying something—carrying Jonny—and he waggles his eyebrows in what he thinks is a flirtatious way.

It really just makes him look ridiculous, but Jonny’s long come to terms with the fact that Patrick Kane will never not be attractive to him.

“Ugh,” Jonny says, wrinkling his nose. “Pretty sure you’re meant to save the bridal style for the wedding night.”

Patrick shrugs, unconcerned with minor details, and spreads his arms a little wider. Jonny rolls his eyes but it doesn’t stop him from allowing Patrick to scoop him up until Jonny’s settled in his arms. It’s a little awkward since Jonny’s taller, but Patrick’s deceptively strong, and Jonny trusts him. He’s seen Patrick carry people like this before, knows that he can handle it, but it doesn’t stop him looping his arms around Patrick’s neck _just in case_.

He’s not entirely sure I’ll do anything since they’ll be traveling at super speed, but it makes _him_ feel a little safer.

“Ready?” Patrick asks, and Jonny nods. Patrick presses a kiss to his temple. “Best America Day.”

Jonny doesn’t get a chance to reply before the world becomes a blur, but he silent agrees as the wind ruffles his hair. Except for him, it doesn’t need to be quantified.

For Jonny, it’s just the best day.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "Something Just Like This" by The Chainsmokers and Coldplay.


End file.
